


The Shadows of Twilight

by summoner_yuna_of_besaid



Series: Middle-Earth Madness [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoner_yuna_of_besaid/pseuds/summoner_yuna_of_besaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For all-too brief a period, Azog the Defiler and Lord Elrond of Imladris came together, loved one another, and learned to see each other in a different light.  </p><p>But the hatred between elves and orcs could not be dissolved in so short a time - so Azog left, to live with his own kin; with orcs who had renounced Sauron, in the north.  Months later, Elrond has decided to seek him out.  If the elves will not accept Azog, perhaps the orcs will accept him? </p><p>Love is powerful, but so is hate.  One or the other shall have to win out, before the end.</p><p>(Direct sequel to "Of the Mighty Stars"; companion piece to "The Hearts of Kings").</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Opening Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what's happened to my life. There's plenty of blame to go around, and most of it is zombierooster's. But whoever's to blame, I am apparently the captain of this ship, and I plan to sail it. 
> 
> This is a direct sequel to "Of the Mighty Stars" and the one shot "What Never Was, Was Lost". While "The Hearts of Kings" is in the same universe, they aren't as connected. If you don't want to read that one, you could probably get away with it. The only major characters from that story who will be in this one are Aragorn, Elladan, and Elrohir.
> 
> This is mostly an exercise in exploring culture, world building, politics, interracial relations, and elf/orc romance (smut). Ahem. Warnings will be added as they become necessary.

> “It is told in the Lay of Lethian that Beren came stumbling into Doriath grey and bowed as with many years of woe, so great had been the torment of the road.  But wandering in the summer in the woods of Neldoreth he came upon Luthien, daughter of Thingol and Melian, at a time of evening under moonrise, as she danced upon the unfading grass in the glades beside Esgalduin.  Then all memory of his pain departed from him, and he fell into an enchantment; for Luthien was the most beautiful of all the Children of Iluvatar.  Blue was her raiment as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were grey as the star-lit evening; her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight."
> 
>   - Of Beren and Luthien, _The Silmarillion_ , page 165

* * *

_“He makes me happy, Thranduil.  It is not the love I ever imagined for myself, but I am more than content.”_

_“If that is true, then there is but one thing I can say.  Why are you not now at his side?”_

_“You know why.  His people need him, and I am needed here.”_

_“Ah, yes, it is so very important that you remain.  Who else would coordinate Rivendell’s choir practice, or hold Lindir’s hand through the rainstorms?”_

_“I may not be a King, but I have duties.”_

_“Duties that can easily be allotted to another for a time.  You have served Rivendell tirelessly for 3,000 years.  By your will alone, her borders and all within are protected by that ring.  None would fault you for joining him, for a time.”_

_“But now?  With Sauron returned, and the world grows ever darker?”_

_“If not now, when?  War will be upon us again, given time.  You – or he – may not live to see its end.  Let Glorfindel rule here for a while – or one of your sons, Iluvatar knows they could be put to better use than spending all their years hunting orcs.”_

* * *

In the late evening, long past bed, two elves moved through Rivendell.  One, hooded and cloaked, carried a satchel, and had a well-packed horse by their side.  They walked in quiet secrecy, stealing through the shadows towards the bridge leading out of the valley, east.

“You are sure you are fine with this?” 

“Yes, My Lord,” Glorfindel sighed affectionately.  “No matter how many times you ask, I shall not change my mind.”

The first elf, pulling back their hood, revealed dark glittering eyes and a sly smile – Lord Elrond, of the valley, dressed in common traveling clothes with a pack upon his back.  “It is a heavy burden.” 

“I imagine it is.”  The other elf replied.  “One I shall gladly take from you, for a time.”  His dry, tired tone belied the fondness in his eyes.  “What you have built here is strong, and will endure your absence.”

Elrond gave a slight nod.  “Very well, then.”  He lifted his arm, pulling back his sleeve to reveal the gold band on his finger, set with a gold gem.  For a moment he only looked down upon it.  Then, with reverent hesitation, he slowly removed the ring, and placed in it Glorfindel’s outstretched hand.

Once it left him, a shudder went through him, followed by a quiet sigh.  “I am still uncertain whether this is wise,” Elrond admitted.  “But it seems all my friends are allied against me.”

“We would see you well.”  Glorfindel told him, as he slipped the ring onto his own finger.  “And I do not think such wellness will come with you locked away here, pining for what is lost.”

Elrond inclined his head, acknowledging the truth in that statement.  The two shared a quick embrace.  “Perhaps this is the beginning of a new tale, to be told in song,” Glorfindel muttered as they broke apart.  “Sometime soon the Hall of Fire might hear of the Lay of Elrond and Azog.”

The other gave a sputtering laugh as he took to his horse.  “Somehow, I doubt the bards shall write songs of us.”  He said, voice falling low.  “Our people are not pleased with me.”

“King Thingol was not pleased with Luthien, or Beren, when they first made suit for their love.”  Glorfindel replied.  “Their song is now one of the greatest of Middle-Earth.  Have faith; all will come together, through the One.”  Elrond did not seem so sure; but he whispered a quick Elven goodbye, as he prepared to leave.

“You shall be missed, my Lord,” Glorfindel said as he backed away.  “But I shall not say, return soon.”

“I am glad of it,” Elrond replied, turning his gaze to the east.  “For I do not think I will.”

And so Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Rivendell, left the valley under the cover of darkness.  None knew where he went, save a few; and plenty would have tried to stop him, had they known his plans. 

He was going after Azog, Lord of Orcs, and none would stand in his way.

* * *

_One Month Later_

The trip itself was no hassle.  In fact, things went remarkably smoothly, all considered, given that Lord Elrond was traveling alone and not at his full strength.  Perhaps that was why, given the cruelty of chance that his rather peaceful trip came to an abrupt and undesired end.

That is, he made it to the North Downs.  He just happened to find the wrong orcs.

A fortnight it took him to travel to Bree, somewhat longer than he’d hoped.  He needed rest more and more as time went on, sleeping longer into the day.  His strength was waning.  The brief period of strength given to him by Azog’s entering his mind and sharing his light was coming to an end.  He could feel the lethargy sinking into him, the exhaustion, the utter hopelessness.  As if a dreary cloud had sunk into his mind, stealing thought and light and feeling away.  He wanted very much to rest.

By the time he made it to Bree, Elrond could barely ride his horse.  He’d thought to send word to Azog, to let him know he was coming; but he couldn’t risk the dream-walking, given his state.  It would just have to be a surprise.  Hopefully, a good one.

Such doubts were unlike him, but given the grieving state he was in, hardly a surprise.  He could not but feel that perhaps he was unwanted; that maybe he would come to Azog and find him upset to be burdened with him.  Elrond was hardly in a fit state to care for himself after all.  Perhaps Azog would refuse him, or hate him for presuming he could just enter back into his life, uncalled for…

That was the Fading talking.  Elrond refused to consider such things, reminding himself that Azog did love him, and would be pleased to see him.  So he kept on his way, taking the road north, to Trestlebridge.

There came the first problem of many.  For while Elrond knew that Azog had gone into the North Downs, looking for his kin, he was not exactly sure where.  That much Azog had not told him.  As for where to start looking, well, there was plenty to search.  Mountains stretched far and wide across the North Downs, divided by sharp valleys and cliffs; thick forests blanketed its landscapes, marshlands dotted the southwest, and long expanses of grassy fields covered what was left.  To the northeast, the ruin of Fornost and the decimation of those age-old wars scarred the landscape, and wraiths haunted the earth. 

Elrond could search for years and still never find him. 

He had thought this would be no problem, for Elrond had planned to use his light to seek out Azog’s and find him that way.  But his light was too dim, too weak now for such things.  He could barely keep on as it was, without exercising such means.  It was too much of a risk.

Perhaps this whole venture had been too much of a risk, Elrond had thought then.  To have come this far, only to fail, to fade finally and pass away into darkness?  Perhaps this is how it was meant to be… perhaps he was never meant to find Azog, to find his happiness… after all, what did he know of joy?  When all he loved him, left him, never to return…  Still, he went north on the Greenway, unable to let go of hope entirely. 

That is where the orcs found him – orcs who were servants of Sauron.

* * *

On the Greenway, they came upon him, daring to venture close to mortal lands to take so valued a prisoner.  Even hooded and cloaked Elrond could not hide his bearing.  They knew him for an elf, and one traveling alone, close to orc lands, at that.  He had been a fool to think he could travel unmarked.

They came out of the shadows in the midst of night, and suddenly he was surrounded.  Twenty, perhaps thirty there were – they were everywhere, every place Elrond looked, as he spun round, drawing his sword.

His hand trembled to hold it, his strength wavered so, but he gritted his teeth and raised it high, ready to fight to the death.  He had not come this far to be taken away without contest.  Two came at him, his horse reared, and stepped back.  Mind racing, he realized this was perhaps the end, that none knew where he was, or where he would fall –

An arrow out of the distance struck the orc nearest him, and with a high-pitched squeal they fell down dead.  Glancing up in shock, Elrond watched as the clearing filled with more orcs – orcs who turned upon the others, and struck them down.  The elf stared in amazement as the battle grew to its peak, afraid to intervene, as he was not sure who to target.  In the dark, surrounded by orcs on all sides, he could not be sure who was friend and foe.  So he stayed his hand, drawing his horse from the battle, turning to move out of the line of fire.  For the moment, attention was drawn from him, and he had a chance to escape.

His luck did not hold; as he made to run further down the road, he was grabbed and dragged from his steed that then bolted into the blue.  Elrond thrust out with his arm, elbowing his attacker in the face, and in their agony they let him go.  He took to the ground, crawling away, not trusting to his own strength to stand. 

He needn’t have worried; the battle came to a quick, ignominious end for the orcs who’d assaulted him.  They took to the shadows again, fading out of sight, while the others lingered, pacing up and down the road, checking the bodies.  Looking upon them, Elrond now saw what he had missed in the chaos of before.  These orcs carried themselves differently from their kin, less like animals hunkering in the woodlands, and more like men.  They dressed as men did, as well, but their clothes were shabby, grey, and ill-used, as if they’d been worn too long.  They were all hooded, and he would not have known them for orcs if not for his keen eyes, and the language he yet heard them speak.

Still, Elrond found himself unable to stand.  His legs shook even to try; huffing, Elrond reeled, dizziness assaulting him.  As his vision blurred and his body was wracked with weakness and pain, he saw a figure approach, but could not make it out.  In his fear, he almost lashed out at it – but his eyes cleared enough to see it was a hooded orc.  He stayed his hand, gasping for breath, watching as the orc watched him.

Amber eyes squinted at him from the darkness of the hood.  The orc knelt beside him, a hand hovering in the air, still watching Elrond.  “I mean you no harm.”  The elf muttered, attempting again to right himself.  Instead he fell upon his side with an oomph, and then hissed as pain ran up his legs.

“Are you injured?”  The orc asked.

“Not by this conflict, no,” He replied, his voice strained.  “This is an injury which runs deep, one I – I am afraid may have gone past any healing…”  Weaker and weaker his tone became, as the world began to blur again.  He barely saw the orc turn his head, and when he heard him speak, it was as if the orc’s voice were muffled and far away… but he did, through the strange, alien orcish, hear and recognize one word at least.

 _Azog_.

“Azog?”  Gasping, Elrond strained to move again, grabbing at the orc’s arm.  “Azog?  He is here?”  The orc looked at him with great surprise.  “Would you…?”  He gestured his hand; after a moment, the orc took it.  Gloved fingers grasped his own, an arm came under his shoulders, and he was lifted.  Behind him, he heard his horse approaching.  Elrond turned to her when she came near, reaching out with trembling hands to take hold of her saddle.  Using her as support, Elrond stood, leaning heavily on his steed. 

All around, orcs stood in a circle, clearly giving him distance, but for the one who’d helped him stand.  They were all cloaked, hooded, covered in shadow; if any were Azog, he could not tell. 

That was, until he heard his voice.

“Well met, stranger,” That familiar rumbling baritone brought a smile to Elrond’s ears.  Even in all his exhaustion and pain, joy flooded him, head to foot.  “Fear not; we mean you no harm.  We are not enemies of the free peoples.”  So overjoyed was he Elrond could hardly stand it.  He fought to speak but his voice failed him.  Turning his head, he looked upon his beloved, standing in the center of the circle some few feet away.  Arms crossed, a great brown cloak and hood thrown over him, two bright yellow eyes glinting at him in the darkness. 

Azog inclined his head, looking down.  “I see by the standard your steed bears you hail from Rivendell.”  He said.  “What brings you so far north?”

Chuckling, Elrond forced his dry mouth to move.  “Love,” He rasped, throwing back his hood.  “And, if I am completely honest, dire need.”

He saw his beloved’s eyes go wide, before the last of his strength waned, and darkness took him.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this story may be rather dark. It will explore grief, and loss, specifically of a wife/parent(s), and the struggles of depression (which is basically the mortal equivalent of what Elrond has).
> 
> As a person with depression whose father is terminally ill, these are very sensitive subjects, and the story is definitely going to be a little personal. I hope you enjoy it. I also hope that if you do, you will leave kudos or comments, because I could definitely use the support. Thank you. c:


	2. Minas Vrun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azog takes Elrond home, and not every orc is happy about it.

> “When Sauron learned of the repentance and revolt of Celebrimbor his disguise fell and his wraith was revealed; and gathering a great force he moved over Calenardhon (Rohan) to the invasion of Eriador in the year 1695.  When news of this reached Gil-Galad he sent out a force under Elrond Half-elven; but Elrond had far to go, and Sauron turned north and made at once for Eregion.  …  Sauron’s host was far greater than theirs, great enough both to hold them off and closely to invest Eregion.  At last the attackers broke into Eregion with ruin and devastation …”
> 
>  – History of Galadriel and Celeborn, _Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-Earth_

* * *

“ _Elrond!_ ”

The elf had not fallen far by the time Azog raced to his side; the orc caught him mid-fall, his good arm going round the man’s waist.  His upper body went limp, bending back over Azog’s hold, his head dropping like a stone in the air.  Panic shot through Azog, sharp and heavy, like a well-aimed spear. 

“You know this elf, my lord?”  Artig asked in the common tongue.  Azog barely heard him through the drumming in his ears, the frantic pounding of his heart echoing through him. 

“A friend,” He said simply, carefully maneuvering the elf in his grasp, until Elrond was leaned forward, resting upon his chest.  He hiked him higher, and spun round, taking long, heavy strides down the path.  “One I owe a great deal.”  As he walked, the others followed unbidden, his shadows along the way.  They came soon enough to a small field, where their wargs remained patiently waiting.  The clearing had been too tight for them to aid in the attack; they were all restless, pacing and growling.

Azog gave a sharp call that brought them all to attention, and drew his own warg’s eyes to him.  She was not so fine as the warg he’d had before, but she was loyal, and young yet.  She would learn.  Azog swept up to her, leaping onto her back, setting Elrond before him.

“You’re taking him with us?”  

All he had to do to silence the orc who’d spoken was turn a fierce glare on him; he cowered, turning to his own warg, and all the others followed suit.  Barking orders somewhat more roughly than he might have in other circumstances, Azog led the way, setting his warg, Chaznuk, running a steady pace.

_Dire need_ , Elrond had said.  Azog’s mind raced, thinking of what could be wrong.  His dream from some months ago returned to him, and he remembered the haughty blond elf’s words.  Elrond was still sick.  Glancing down, Azog took in his pale, wan skin, almost waxy, and he felt how thin and frail the elf had gotten. 

At the time, there had not been much he could do, whether the elf’s words were true or not.  By then, he was more than a fortnight away from Rivendell; more than that, his existence had become known amongst elves.  If he had returned, Elrond’s allies may have tried to take him captive.  (And, much as he hated to admit it, they may have succeeded.)  Still, even with those risks, he’d have gone back to save Elrond’s life – before he’d become enmeshed in the chaos that was the invasion of the Shire.

By then, he’d come to be deep in the North Downs.  After all was said and done, he’d been assured that Elrond’s sons – including the young Estel – would be returning to Rivendell to help him.  But Elrond must have left before they returned, and thus was never healed by them.  He could not imagine any other answer for why the elven Lord was so ill.

Fear and nerves wracked his heart, and Azog pushed Chaznuk to run faster.

They took to the north-east, avoiding the main road by running dangerously close to the Fields of Fornost, or what Men called Dead Men’s Dike.  It wasn’t much cover; there were no forests here, only long wide plains far as could be seen.  They risked it for Elrond’s sake, and luckily it wouldn’t be long before they’d be off the plains and out of sight.

Towards the east, built upon a high hill near the base of the mountains, was Minas Vrûn, an ancient city of Men fallen into ruin and decay.  Destroyed by Angmar when Arthedain fell, Minas Vrûn had long been abandoned by her people.  None came near it, and those passing it on the Greenway gave it a wide berth.  It stood quite close to the ruins of Fornost, where ghosts and ghouls wandered the wastes, and men were of the mind that all those places were haunted.  That suited the orcs; they had not the manpower or the resources to build a like city of their own, and Minas Vrûn was far enough away from all else to give them some secrecy.

They came upon the city’s stone entryway and rode through.  It was more than wide and tall enough for all the wargs to enter, side by side, and the road they came in upon was wider still.  They came to a halt, spread out amongst the main courtyard.  Azog’s warg reared round, and he shouted orders to his men, before barreling off on his own.  Orcs in the streets leapt out of his way as he charged through alleys and down stone paths. 

He passed under the archway to his home, entering the central courtyard. On all sides were towering walls, blocking out the outside world, and high balconies overlooking them, held up by ornate pillars.  A few of these were crumbling; one of the balconies had completely fallen.  Azog stepped down off Chaznuk, gathering Elrond in his arms quickly as he could, before making for the door.

Once, perhaps, this had been the home of a mighty noble.  Now, it was a decrepit shithole, barely worth living in.  But Azog made do.  It was better, perhaps, than the ruined halls of Moria, forever reeking of ash and death.

Azog took to the main staircase, practically leaping over the steps towards his bedroom.  It was a large chamber, overlooking the eastern wall of the city.  Originally, perhaps, it was a sitting room, but as the main bedchambers had collapsed centuries before, it would have to do.  Inside, a few pieces of furniture, orc made, were scattered about, including a large hammock, tied to either wall in the back corner.  Azog laid Elrond upon it, and set to removing his many extra layers.  Riding boots, traveling cloak, shawl, robes, all came off, until he was in only his under things. 

He did not seem to be wounded… Azog could not find any injuries, of the body, at least.  It was the mind, then, where the sickness lay.  Frowning, Azog turned his gaze to Elrond’s face.  The elf’s expression was tight, pained, and he did not seem restful.  The orc made to kneel beside him, reaching out to touch his face, when he heard footsteps in the hall.

“My lord?”  Looking up to the doorway, Azog saw Thurag running towards him.  “Lord Azog, what’s going on?  I’ve heard all sorts of weird shit about you bringing an elf into –“   She slid to a halt in the doorway, faltering, mouth and eyes both going wide.  “Oh, Sauron’s sweaty tits, it’s true.  You brought an elf into _Goi-suk_!”

Grunting, Azog turned his back to her.  “What of it?”

“What of – Zlurik will have your head!”

That brought a rumbling laugh out of him.  “I’d like to see him try.”  Gently, the orc ran his hand along Elrond’s cheek, beginning his first attempts to seek out that bond they’d once shared, the bridge that brought their Lights together.  Elrond’s end was weak, so very weak… he could barely feel it.

“What are you doing?”

“This elf is a friend, to whom I owe my life.”  Azog told her.  He heard her approaching.  “I trust him, and Zlurik will have to trust me.”

Thurag cursed.  “Why have you always got to shove your weight around?  He’s an elf!  We don’t let the damn _golugs_ in here for good reason.  Zlurik’s going to want more of an explanation than you demanding he trust you and leave it at that.”

“Yes!”  Frustrated, Azog finally spun round.  “Yes, I know.  Just…”  Sighing, he turned back to Elrond.  “Distract him for a few hours.  Give me that.”

Thurag was quiet for a moment, before she sighed, too.  “Fine.  Fine!  You owe me, you shithead.”  Throwing her hands up, she turned and walked back out, and Azog paid her no mind. 

He had thoughts only for his lover, and the frail strength left in him.  Placing his hand along Elrond’s cheek, he closed his eyes, reached out, and dove into the elf’s fading light…

* * *

_Running, running endlessly, without destination, without direction, moving in desperation to attempt to outrun the force at his back.  Elrond did not know how many followed; he could not tell.  His soldiers were scattered, their ranks broken, all but slaughtered by the might of Sauron’s armies.  They had failed – failed to keep him back, failed to give the elves of Eregion time to escape._

_The thought was enough to slow him down, but he stayed such darkness for a time.  Those who were left needed him.  They would have to regroup, to make some attempt at waylaying the Dark Lord again, or else he would cross the River Lhun undeterred and take Lindon next.  Something had to be done…_

_Elrond came to a halt, and reached out, grasping for the nearest tree, to rest his weight upon.  Pain and guilt weighed down on him heavily, and he sunk to its base, gasping for breath.  He lifted his eyes; about him, soldiers came running, all slowing to a halt at varying intervals.  Glorfindel came to stand by him._

_“They have given up the chase,” He said, looking back.  “They’ll return to the main force and make for Ost-in-Edhil.”_

_Forcing himself to rise, Elrond stammered.  “We have to reform ranks.  We can come upon their rear as they enter the city, perhaps – divert some of the attack away from the civilians.”_

_Glorfindel turned to him, disbelief clear on his face.  “We haven’t the numbers.  It’s suicide.”_

_“So we stand and do nothing?”  Elrond spat, huffing.  “Our High King trusted this to me, and I shall not fail him, or die in the attempt.”_

_“Die for what?”  Glorfindel replied dryly.  “You will not earn Gil-Galad’s favor as a corpse.  We must make for the Havens and join with him in its defense.  Eregion is lost.”_

_“My lords!”_

_Both turned as one; the soldier who called for them gestured towards the east.  They followed his gaze.  Through the trees, they could see elves running for them; not soldiers, not those who served in Elrond’s army._

_“Survivors?”  Glorfindel asked.  “Escaped from the city?”_

_“They may know something of its fate.” Frowning, Elrond approached as the elves came towards them, stopping near them.  One fell immediately to her knees, blood flowing from a wound in her side.  Elrond knelt by her, examining the wound._

_“You come from Eregion?”_

_She nodded.  “T – The capital,” As she spoke, Elrond tore at his sleeves, and began wrapping them around her torso._

_“Ost-in-Edhil is taken,” The elf standing beside her continued.  “Sauron came upon it yester eve.  The city guard was far outnumbered; they could not hold.”_

_Elrond stood, aiding the woman to stand as well.  “And the House of the Mirdain?”_

_“Ransacked,” Another elf, some feet away, replied breathlessly.  “I saw it fall.  Lord Celebrimbor stood against the Dark Lord himself outside its gates, but he was outmatched.”_

_Elrond’s chest tightened, and he struggled to speak.  “He is dead then?”_

_The elf shook his head.  “Taken,” He replied.  “And the rings with him.”_

_“Not all of them,” Glorfindel, turning to Elrond, said.  “The Three and the Seven were already removed from the city.”_

_“It may not be long before he has them all, if Celebrimbor is his captive.”  Elrond did not think ill of the man; but he knew the methods the Dark Lord used on his prisoners.  If the mighty smith did know of the locations of the other rings… “We must return to the King.  He needs to know.”_

_Suddenly, the world began to fade… the reality of the memory morphing into something more dreamlike.  Elrond stood alone in an empty field, his friends and soldiers-in-arms gone.  Turning round, he looked upon the whole might of Sauron’s army… and above them, carried like a standard over the field, was Celebrimbor, his body riddled with wounds and arrows, hung naked from a pole over the orcs._

_Tears stung Elrond’s eyes._  I failed you _, he thought._ Valar, forgive me.  I failed you all.

No, Elrond. 

_The voice came suddenly, and from what seemed like nowhere, and yet everywhere.  Elrond jumped.  “Who is that?”  He called desperately.  “Who are you?”_

You know who I am, _golugizub_.  Their deaths are not on your head.  You did all you could, and saved many lives.

_The elf hung his head, hands clenched tight at his sides.  “It wasn’t enough.”  Elrond whispered, lifting his head to the invading army again.  “It is never enough.”  He stood, defenseless, before the oncoming storm, ready to let it sweep him away – then, from beside him appeared an orc, who quickly stepped in front of Elrond, sword raised._

_“What are you doing?”_

_“Fighting with you.”  The orc said, turning to grin at Elrond.  He was… so familiar.  “I will not leave you to fight your darkness alone, Elrond.”_

_“You…”  Elrond’s eyes went wide.  “Azog.”_

_“Good.  You do remember.”_

_“Azog, this fight is impossible, you’ll die!”_

_“Perhaps I will,” The orc shrugged, stepping into a battle stance.  “But then, this fight has already been fought, hasn’t it?”_

_Yes, it – it had.  Elrond remembered suddenly that this had happened long ago.  Why was he here?  What was…_

* * *

Elrond woke and came to himself slowly, with a steady groan. 

“Azog?”  Blinking rapidly, his vision finally cleared and he set eyes upon the delight of his heart.  “It is you!” In his joy he tried to sit up, only to feel his body fight him with every move.  Exhaustion seeped into his very bones, and he fell back with a heavy sigh.

“Do not strain yourself,”  Azog replied, moving his hand to rest upon Elrond’s shoulders.  “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, it seems.  Did your ride here from Rivendell alone?”

“Yes,” That did not seem to please the orc, who frowned at his answer.  “It was necessary.  I left in secret, and without the blessing of my kin.”

“For what purpose?”

“For you, of course.”  Elrond smacked his thigh lightly, able to move his arm at least that much.  “What did you think?”

Azog looked stunned. “You… I don’t understand.”

Rolling his eyes, Elrond made to move to sit up again, this time taking it slowly and gently.  “I missed you.”  He admitted quietly.  “All the music and wonder of the valley seemed cold and empty without you at my side.  With some… cajoling, from my friends, I was convinced that seeking you out would benefit me.  I have given Glorfindel rule of the valley for some time, so that I could remain with you.”

“Remain with…”  Azog’s eyes went wide.  “You wish to stay?”

Elrond felt his throat tighten, and go dry.  “Do you… would you rather I go?  I – I do not want to impose…”  He was silence by a finger upon his lips.

“Do not mistake my shock for disapproval.”  In fact, the orc was grinning, practically beaming.  “You – I cannot believe you.”  Then, his look darkened.  “Still, to have ridden all this way in your condition?  That was foolish!”

“I was not quite so – weak, as this when I left.”  Elrond huffed.  “But travel wearied me more than I expected.”

“You could have been gravely hurt.”  Azog continued.  “You could have died!  Had my patrol not seen you –“

“Yes, I remember.”  Elrond said.  “I must admit, I was surprised to be saved from orcs, by orcs.”

“We try to keep our enemies from attacking anyone in this land.  We do not reveal ourselves, and I fear most mistake us for Rangers.”  Azog’s expression was almost comical in its distaste, at that.  Elrond smiled at it.

Reaching out, he clasped Azog’s hand, tight.  “It is so good to see you.”  It truly was; he felt better, simply sitting beside him.  Tears pricking his eyes, Elrond lifted the orc’s hand and kissed his palm.  “By the Valar, I _missed_ you.”

Azog leaned down, enveloping the elf in a gentle, chaste kiss.  He leaned away, leaving only a hair’s breadth between them.  “I have missed you gravely, _golugizub_.  I am honored and overjoyed to have you here with me, now.  I would keep you as long as I am able.”

Elrond smiled in response.  “Just try to get rid of me.”  They both chuckled at that.

The moment ended with a knock on the door.  Elrond watched Azog’s expression twist into a grimace, heard him growl as he sat up.  “What?”

“Look, I gave you plenty of time,” An orc in the doorway said, holding their arms up.  “But Zlurik’s hardly a patient orc.  He –“  The orc had barely begun to speak before another shoved past them, storming into the room.

Azog leapt to his feet, growling, placing himself between Elrond and the other orc, Zlurik.  Elrond could not see him well, given the rather large figure standing in his way.  He tried leaning to the side, and got a small glimpse of a tall, lanky figure, dressed in browns and greens.  He wore a shawl around his shoulders, pinned with a metal insignia Elrond did not recognize.

The two orcs were clearly arguing in their own tongue.  Elrond let them have at it, for a moment, but when he saw that it was obviously growing more heated, not less, he spoke.

“Since I am undoubtedly the subject of discussion here,” He began, “Perhaps it would help if you spoke so I could understand?”

Both orcs turned to look at him.  The stranger, Zlurik, seemed wary, narrowed eyes glowering at him.  “Who are you?”  The orc asked.  “What is your business here?”

“I am –“

“He is Elros,”  Azog interrupted him sharply, turning to Zlurik.  “An elf I met some time ago, who saved my life.  I owe him a debt.”

Zlurik turned his bitter glare on Azog.  “I do not believe I asked you.”

“Please!”  Holding his hands up, Elrond turned to place his feet on the floor, and attempt to stand.  With Azog’s help, he just barely managed it.  “I realize my being here is – unorthodox, at best.”  Elrond said.  The orc behind both Azog and Zlurik snorted.  “But I mean no harm.  I am here out of affection and loyalty to Azog, and I will do nothing which might endanger him or his kin.”

Zlurik eyed him carefully.  “We cannot let you go.”  The orc replied.  “Either you die by our blades, or you remain here.”

“Any who attempt to harm him will die at my hand!”  Azog barked sharply.

Elrond held up a hand.  “I understand.”  Zlurik seemed skeptical.  “I have no plans to leave.  I came to stay with Azog, and that is all I desire.”

The orc looked him over, let out a quiet line of orcish, before sighing and turning his back.  “He will speak before the Elders tomorrow.  We shall see what they have to say.”  He turned, and hesitating in the doorway, said something to Azog in orcish that made the orc growl.  Then he was gone. 

The other orc watched him go, turned and looked at Azog, shrugged, and followed after him.

Elrond let out a heavy sigh, before turning to his lover.  “Elros?”

Azog gave a little jump.  “I – it was what first came to mind.”  Frowning, he turned to Elrond.  “I apologize if it is uncomfortable for you.”

“It is fine.”  Of all names, taking his long-lost brother’s was perhaps the most comfortable and familiar.  “I suppose I should have thought to use such a name in the first place?”

“I fear how the others will react to you.”  Azog continued.  “They are already fearful, but hearing that an elven lord is amongst them?”

“Yes,” Nodding, Elrond agreed.  “I will keep my birth name and title to myself.”

Satisfied, Azog nodded in return, and helped Elrond back into the – bed?

“What is this?”  Elrond eyed the hammock curiously, even as Azog helped him into it, and then followed him.  They settled together quite comfortably in the center of it, Azog’s arms wrapped around him.   (The claw was set aside, removed perhaps before Azog began to heal him.) 

“This is how orcs often sleep.”  Azog told him.  “We are usually cramped into small places with large numbers.  Lifting beds off the ground creates room for more.  I have always preferred this way to those ridiculous things you call beds in Rivendell.”

Elrond smiled sleepily in reply.  “I do not care where we rest,” He said, drifting off.  “So long as I rest with you.”

He felt Azog smile against his neck, just before he fell into a deep slumber.


	3. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond awakens in Goi-suk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be longer, but I got really sick and never got around to it. Since it's been a while since I updated, I figured I'd post what I have, and continue when I'm feeling better (which will hopefully be later this week). Hope you enjoy!

> “After the fall of Sauron, Isildur, the son and heir of Elendil, returned to Gondor.  There he assumed the Elendilmir as King of Arnor, and proclaimed his sovereign lordship… When he at last felt free to return to his own realm he was in haste, and he wished to go first to Imladris; for he had left his wife and youngest son there, and he had moreover an urgent need for the counsel of Elrond.  … He knew the land well, for he had journeyed there often before the War of the Alliance, and had marched that way to the war with men of eastern Arnor and the company of Elrond.”
> 
> -Disaster of the Gladden Fields, _Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-earth_

* * *

Elrond woke slowly, coming out of sleep as if he were stumbling through fog, towards the daylight.  Body stiff and sore, head aching, the elf groaned as he awoke, comforted only by the warm body close at hand.

“Good morning,”

Turning, Elrond faced his lover with a tired smile.  “Morning,” He turned in Azog’s hold, until they were facing one another.  “How long have you been awake?”

“For some time,” Azog replied, shrugging.  “Orcs sleep but little.”

“I am sorry for keeping you.”

“I am not,” The orc said, leaning in to press his rough lips against Elrond’s throat.  It was both gentle and abrasive, and altogether too enticing.  “I enjoy holding you.”

“Yes, I – I can see,” Chuckling, Elrond leaned away.  “But I do not think we have time for such – enjoyment.  I believe I heard something of a meeting yesterday, to happen this morning?”

The relaxed, pleased expression on Azog’s face twisted into an irritated scowl.  “Yes, you are right.”  He sat up, and Elrond followed suit, though more slowly.  He felt stronger today than he had in many weeks, yet he was still far from recovered.  The exhaustion of the trip on top of his illness wore him down, and he found himself moving very slowly and carefully.  Azog helped him out of the hammock, and then stood with him.

“ _Goi-suk_ is led by our Elders,” Azog explained, approaching the table with his claw, and re-attaching it.  “Those who have been here longer than all others.  They have the final say on all decisions pertaining to the city and her welfare.”

“Goi-suk?”  Elrond asked, tripping over the harsh tones.  By Azog’s smirk and the shake of his head, it was clear he’d butchered it.  “Is that what you call the city here?”

“It is the only name we have for it, though it once had another, as I’m sure you know.”  Azog told him.  He was striding about the room, slipping off what he was wearing, to replace it with clean clothes.  Elrond chuckled at the sight.  Azog, half-dressed from the waist down, glanced back at him with a quirked brow. 

“I’m sorry, it’s only, I did not think I would see the day that Azog the Defiler gave a thought to his state of dress.”  More laughter followed his words.  “Lindir would be beside himself!”

A sly grin on his face, Azog continued dressing.  “I am certain he would.”  His clothes were leather-made, and thick, to protect against the harsh Northern winters.  Long leggings, tucked into fur-lined boots, covered him, along with a tunic tied with a thick belt, which held Azog’s sword.  Atop that was a short cloak which fell down to Azog’s backside, and tied in the front.  It was crudely made, well-worn, and stained with blood in places. 

Elrond, meanwhile, had little in the way of clothes.  All his belongings were with his horse, and he did not know where she was.  He was quite honestly afraid to ask.  If all went well with the Elders, he would seek her out, and hopefully find her wandering the roads nearby, looking for him.

Glancing down at his sullied traveling clothes, he begrudgingly accepted that they would have to do.  Yet, even given their wear and damage, his elven robes were much finer than the finest orc cloth Azog had.

“Well,” Sighing, Elrond looked to his lover, fighting the nerves which were rising up his throat.  “What should I expect?”

Azog, perhaps sensing the elf’s fear, approaching him, taking hold of his hand.  “The people of Goi-suk are not unkind.  They are – fearful, as they should be.  All of them are deserters fleeing Sauron’s wraith, and here they looked to escape all their enemies.  Including elves.”  Frowning, the orc paused, gripping Elrond’s hand tight.  “I do not know what the Elders will say.  But whatever their decision, I shall stand by you.  I will not willingly leave your side again, _golugizub_.”

Those words were a balm to Elrond’s worries, though his heart still fluttered in his chest.  “Coming north, I feared most your reception.  I did not think of what your people might say, or how I might be received… I do not want to cause trouble for any of you.”

“You are no trouble.”  Lifting his hand to cradle Elrond’s chin, the orc lifted his downturned face.  “I am honored to have you here with me.  The others will see reason in time.”

“Ahem.”

Both turned as one, Azog’s hand dropping quick as he saw someone standing in the doorway.  It was the same orc as yesterday, Elrond realized; not the surly Zlurik, but the other.

The orc seemed to be there for Azog, but they kept glancing Elrond’s way every other breath.  Eyes darting up and down his form as they gnawed at their lip.  Their sharp teeth, strangely alien eyes, and scarred skin marked them as so very different from his people – yet, Elrond thought he could see what was in this orc’s eyes nonetheless.  Nervousness.  Azog was right; the orcs _feared_ him.

“I do not believe we have met.”  He said finally, stepping forward, ignoring the way the orc jumped in shock.  “I am – Elros, of Rivendell, a friend of Azog’s.”  Holding out his hand, he awaited the other’s reply, though he knew he waited mostly in vain.  The orc was jittery, glancing from his face to his hand and back, as if afraid a knife would materialize there at any moment.

Azog sighed.  “This is Thurag.  She has been a good friend to me during my time here.”  Finally, the orc seemed to come to herself, and gave a little half-wave.

“Hi.”

Elrond dropped his hand, an amused smile on his face when he replied in kind.  “Hi.”

* * *

They took to the streets, walking down old stone pathways lined with rubble and debris, towards the center of the town.  The roads inclined ever higher and higher as they approached the top of the hill, walking through winding roads and streets.  Most of them were empty and quiet, where none lived, as there were hardly enough orcs to fill the entirety of the enormous city. 

“Most of us live within a few miles of the central palace.”  Azog explained as they walked. 

“But you’ve got to live on the fucking outer walls, you antisocial bastard.” 

Thurag’s crass, blunt tone took Elrond completely by surprise, and for a moment he wondered if he should be offended and insulted that someone was speaking to his lover in such a way.  But then Azog laughed.

“Where else?”  He told her.  “Attacks from Sauron’s forces will come from without, not within.”

Elrond gave a dark chuckle at that.  “Do not be so sure.”  He glanced round at the falling buildings, crumpled and crumbling into disrepair, covered in dust and rats and the corpses of the long-dead.  “We stand among proof of the dangers of the enemy within.”

“How’s that?”  Elrond turned; Thurag, on his left, seemed mighty curious at his words.  For a moment, the elf was flummoxed; back home, any elf would have understood the reference, but then, he was not at home, was he?  And it seemed that knowledge of the history of the world was not so well-shared among the orcs.  Glancing to his right, he saw even Azog had a curious look upon his face, as if he did not know.

Looking ahead, Elrond gathered his thoughts together, to tell the tale.  “This is the ruins of the city of Minas Vrûn, once part of the kingdom of Arnor, a kingdom of men.  It’s downfall came at the hands of its own people; soldiers sent from Fornost to assist in its defense, who defected to Angmar, and with their knowledge of the inner workings of the city, brought Minas Vrûn to this bitter end.”

“Angmar?”  Thurag asked, frowning.  “As in the Nazgul?  What’d they want with this place?”

“That,” Elrond said, as they came round a corner and entered into the marketplace, “is a much longer story.”

The marketplace was as bustling as any in a city of dwarves, men, hobbits, or elves; music could be heard all around, particularly drums and metallic chimes, and the echoing voices of shoppers and sellers filled the air.  It was a mix of Westron and Black Speech, sometimes both, slipping from one to the other with ease and fluidity.  But such voices and music lulled when Elrond entered the courtyard.

All eyes fell on him; he bristled under the attention, unsure of how to react to it.  Part of him desperately wanted to slip back into the shadows, and away from the dozens of pairs of eyes watching him.  But he kept on, flanked on either side by Azog and Thurag, following their lead to the ruined palace.

He felt Azog’s hand touch the small of his back, and smiled, drawing comfort and strength from it.

The palace was as decrepit as the rest of the city, if somewhat more grand for resembling what it once had been.  A mighty, tall structure, built in the center of the city, a tower extending skyward to look over all of Minas Vrûn. 

The three ascended the stairs side by side, eyed by the guards keeping watching over the entryway.  But they were allowed to pass; Elrond imagined they were expected.  As they stepped onto the higher platform and approached the door, the elf’s eyes wandered over its exterior, and the beauty carved into its surface.  It was worn with age, and fading, but still gleamed with some of its ancient majestry.

Elrond hesitated, wide eyes set upon the door, and both orcs faltered.  Azog turned, perhaps mistaking his pause for fear, but at the sight of him, his brow furrowed.  “What is it?”

“Forgive me, but this,” He approached the door, running a hand over its surface.  “It depicts things long lost, which I have not seen for an age.”  The memories assaulted him with over-strong emotions, and in his present state he was all but overcome by them.  Tears pricked his eyes as he gazed up at the top of the image, of the scene depicting the glory of Men, the greatest of Numenor and Arnor, and at its center, a band of silver, with a sparkling white gem at its center…

_“You are troubled.”_

_The man startled at Elrond’s approach; then, chuckled, though the laughter was heavy with forced cheer.  “You should not sneak so, Lord of Imladris,” Isildur muttered.  “I might have taken you for a trespasser.”_

_“I do not think so.”  He approached the younger mortal, looking out over the valley.  They stood in the Homely House, on a balcony overlooking all.  Night had long since fallen, and it was far too late to be awake, on the eve of such a day.  “Why are you not at rest?”_

_The man frowned.  “It is - difficult to do so.”  Turning, Isildur braced himself on the railing, a deep sigh escaping him.  “Tomorrow, we march upon Mordor.”  His frown deepened.  “Perhaps it is folly, but there is a great fear in my heart.  Fear for all I love, and for myself.  Fear that I might never lay eyes upon this valley and my dear ones who remain here again.”_

_“It is wisdom, not folly, to fear danger and darkness,” Elrond insisted, turning to face Isildur.  “Yet I do not think this war shall be your end.  You may yet bear the Elendilmir and rule as King.”_

_The man turned to him, some light and hope brightening in his eyes.  A weak smile lit his lips.  “I hope you are right.”_

“Elrond?”

The elf blinked, and was back again in the world of today.  Drawn from dark memories by the voice of his beloved, Elrond let his hand fall from the doorway, though his eyes lingered on that white gem.

“What is it?”  Thurag asked behind him. 

“The Elendilmir.”   Elrond told her.  “The gemstone of the King, worn upon his brow to confer upon him the right to rule all of Arnor.”

“Fancy,” The orc said.  “Is it here, then? In the city?”

“It was lost.”  Elrond replied quietly.  “Lost with its bearer, King Isildur, when he fled the Gladden Fields and fell into the Anduin.”

“Oh,” Thurag muttered.  “That sucks.”

The words prompted something of a scuffle behind Elrond’s back, and an argument entirely in Black Speech, with Azog spouting violently at the shorter orc.  Elrond hardly noticed; he was still somewhat lost in his own mind, memories floating on the outskirts of his thoughts, a brooding mood drifting over him. 

Azog came to stand in front of him; their eyes met.  He seemed concerned, but kept his thoughts to himself, moving to open the door. 


	4. Council Chambers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond and Azog meet the Elders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Had some family health issues come up, and then I was distracted by a new story I started. Oops.

 

> “There he rose up out of the water; only a mortal man, a small creature lost and abandoned in the wilds of Middle-earth.  But to the night-eyed orcs that lurked there on the watch he loomed up, a monstrous shadow of fear, with a piercing eye like a star.  They loosed their poisoned arrows at it, and fled.  Needlessly, for Isildur unarmed was pierced through heart and throat, and without a cry he fell back into the water.  No trace of his body was ever found by Elves or Men.” 
> 
> -  Disaster of the Gladden Fields, _Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-Earth_

The Palace of Minas Vrun had been converted into a kind of council chamber; where once a great throne had sat, carpets and pillows had been spread about on the floor.  Lanterns and candles were all about, shedding light on the dark place, and the relaxed closeness gave the room an intimate feeling.  Orcs sat all around, some simple people of the city, others the Elders, sitting upon the foot of the throne, at the head of the room.  There were some fifty or more in the room, and all their eyes were upon Azog, and Elrond.

Azog met all their eyes with no shame.  Head held high, his gaze dark and daring.  He stepped forward, standing while all others (besides Elrond; Thurag darted off soon as she could, taking a seat in the audience) sat, as was their way.  Those who were on trial had to present themselves to all.

The Eldest of Elders, sitting in the middle of the room, lifted their staff, and banged its end upon the floor three times.  The whole room went quiet.  The only sound was the quiet dripping of water somewhere, through the cracks in the ceiling.

“Azog,” The Elder began.  “We have called you here before All to judge your actions.  Do you deny bringing a _golug_ into _Goi-suk_?”

They were, luckily, speaking the Common Tongue.  Azog was slightly surprised; he’d thought he’d have to press the issue.  Lifting his chin as if daring any to oppose him, Azog replied simply, “I did.”

“And is it not this _golug_ who is with you now?”

“He is, yes.” 

Off to the side, sitting on the left, was Zlurik, and by the look on his face he was pissed.  That almost made Azog grin, but he kept it to himself.  The orc was almost twitching, arms crossed, a heavy frown upon his face.  His dark eyes were boring holes into Azog.  He risked a quick wink at the asshole, who bristled and discretely sent a few unsavory hand gestures his way.

“Do you deny bringing danger and a threat amongst the people?”

“I do deny that.”

“Explain your actions.”

Turning, Azog looked back at Elrond, and his eyes softened.  “This elf means us no harm.  I know him well; I owe him my life, more than once, and he has been nothing but good to me.  I swear by my own life, he will never harm any here.”

“Saved your life?”  The Elder who was furthest on the left said.  “How so?”

That… was a problem.  Flummoxed, Azog hesitated for a moment.  How to explain how Elrond had saved him… without revealing he was the Lord of Rivendell?

At that moment, he felt a presence at his side.  “If I may,” Elrond began.  “Might I be permitted to tell the tale?”

Azog glanced at him, then at the elders.  They spoke among themselves for a moment, before the Eldest nodded.  “Speak, _golug_.” 

Elrond glanced at him, and Azog nodded, stepping back.  Elrond took his place center stage, his hands clasped in front of him, shoulders back, head held high.  He might’ve been taking the stage in the Hall of Fire, he looked so comfortable.  But then, these sorts of political maneuverings were much more familiar to Elrond.  Azog was already quite sick of it.

“I was a - servant in the House of Elrond, in Rivendell, a haven for elves in the Trollshaws.  Rivendell was my home for some time, and her Lord was as family to me.  I say this to explain why I was given a great deal of leisure in the matter with Azog.”

“Azog came to Rivendell, fleeing from the Dark Lord’s forces, when our scouts found him.  He was taken to my Lord, and I was with him at the time.  Azog was quite injured; without care, I knew he would die, and I pitied him.  It seemed my Lord was inclined to allow him to die, but I pleaded his case.  As Azog had not attacked us, but had been attacked himself, was it not wrong not to care for him?”

“It was difficult, but I managed to convince my Lord to let me care for him.  In time, he recovered, and my Lord permitted him leave to stay.”

“This is how you met?”

“Yes,” Elrond nodded.

“And your name?”

“Elros, of Rivendell.”   

“That still does not explain what he is doing _here_.”  Zlurik interjected suddenly, half standing out of his seat.  Azog rolled his eyes.

“Why do you think he’s here?”  The orc replied, spitting out a rather harsh insult in the Black speech.  “Why else would one travel across the world for another?”

“What are you implying?”  Finally Zlurik did stand, hands clenched into fists at his sides.  “He is no family of yours, and an _elf_ could not possibly be anything to one of us.”

“He is to me.”  Azog crossed his arms, meeting Zlurik’s glare with his own.  Between them, Elrond stood, confused and concerned and very unsure of what to do, other than stand quietly and hope nothing went wrong.  “He is my mate.”

The room erupted into loud conversation, thundering through the domed ceiling, as the Elder banged his staff uselessly and called for silence.  Zlurik stood motionless, slack jawed, and the idiotic look on his face was one Azog would savor for some time.

“Silence!”  Finally, the Elder managed to calm the room, but the atmosphere was still tense, and almost electric.  “Is this true?  This – Elros is your mate?”

“Yes, Elder.”  Azog said, moving to stand beside Elrond.  For a moment, it seemed the Elder was as flabbergasted as Zlurik.

The Elder on the right, perhaps realizing the other was speechless, leaned forward.  “You are here to join Azog, to live with him as his mate?”

“I am, if that would be permitted.”  Elrond said, giving a slight bow.  “It is all I want.”

The Elders spoke amongst themselves again, in hushed tones, and some minutes passed before they turned to face their audience again.

“Elros, of Rivendell,” The Elder began.  “You are permitted to stay, so long as you abide by the rules we  set forth for you.  You shall be accompanied at all times.  You shall adhere to a curfew, travel only within the designated areas we assign to you, and you will report once every fortnight to the Guard Captain to ensure you are obeying these rules.  Most of all, is this:  you can never leave _Goi-suk_.”

Azog felt Elrond stiffen beside him.  The orc held his breath.  He’d known this would be a stipulation of Elrond’s stay.  There was no way the elf would agree.  He had friends and family, responsibilities in the world outside the city.  He would want to go home eventually.  Surely now Elrond would see this whole thing was folly, and he would leave? 

It wasn’t exactly what Azog wanted, but he was used to being denied.

“Yes,” Elrond said, and Azog almost fell over.  “I agree.”

* * *

“Are you mad?”

Elrond let a wry smile grace his face.  His lover had been strangely quiet the whole way back to his home; the elf had expected a reaction like this.  Still smiling, he turned to face Azog, who stood in the entryway to his mansion with an incredulous, almost angry expression.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?  You’ve bargained your life away!”  Azog spat, storming forward.  “You cannot sincerely want this.”

“Of course I do,” Elrond replied dryly.  “Why else would I have asked for it?”

“There is still time to request a new verdict.”  Azog continued on as if Elrond hadn’t spoken, gripping his shoulders tightly.  “The Elders are wise, they’ll change their minds.  We can have you back on your horse and heading home by tonight.”

The smile dropped.  “So eager to be rid of me?”

“Of course not!”  The orc growled. 

Lifting his arms, Elrond gently pried Azog off, and gripped his hand in both of his.  “I understand your concern and I am warmed by it.”  The elf smiled again.  “But understand, I have no intention of staying here forever.”

“Then…?”

“If I had said no, they’d have forced me to leave.”  He shrugged.  “I will worry about leaving when the time comes.  For now, I am content to stay.  I want to stay.  With you.”  Squeezing Azog’s hand, Elrond leaned closer to him, taking comfort from his larger form.

“You…”  The orc let out a string of orcish that was probably less than kind, but was also tinged with a fond tone.  “You are a fool.”

“A fool in love,” Elrond grinned against Azog’s neck, then placed a kiss upon it.  The orc growled and he felt it in his own chest, and the feeling sent shivers up and down his spine.  Azog’s hand fell upon his back, and drifted lower, until…

“Ahem.”

Another growl, but this one was far less amused.  Azog turned, still holding Elrond in his embrace, and in doing so, revealed the doorway to Elrond.  In it stood the orc Azog seemed so displeased by: Zlurik.  He had an expression on his face like he’d just tasted something bitter and it was set upon the two of them.  Embarrassment flushed Elrond’s face, but he stayed where he was. 

“What do you want?”  Azog spat.  “Come to bother us more?  We have the Elder’s approval; you can fuck off.”

“I’ll gladly do so, but I was doing you a favor.”  Zlurik threw back in return.  “Unless you’d like me to let the wargs eat this nasty beast?”

“Nasty beast?”  Could it be…?  Elrond stepped out of Azog’s embrace, heading for the door.  Out in the courtyard stood a blond horse, with a saddlebag still on its back.  “ _Dannas_!”  Joy filled his heart as he approached her, running his hands over her neck.  The horse was pleased to be with her master, gently nudging at him with her nose.  When footsteps behind him alerted him to the orc’s presence, Elrond turned, and smiled.  “Thank you very much,” He told Zlurik.  “ _Dannas_ is as dear to me as my own heart,”

The orc sneered.  “I did not do it for you.”  He said, as he moved past the elf and his horse, looking down on them with disdain.  “The wargs deserve better meat than _golug_ horse-flesh.”  With that, he turned and sauntered off, away from the mansion.

“One of these days,” Azog growled at his departing figure, “I’m going to kill him.”

“Who is he?”  Elrond asked, turning.

“Zlurik, Captain of the Guard.”

“You mean…?”

“Yes, your babysitter.”  He snorted.  “I’m sorry for all that.  It seems the Elders don’t trust me as much as I thought.”

Frowning, Elrond pondered the reasons for such a thing.  “Perhaps my coming here has done more damage than I imagined.”  Had he hurt Azog’s standing with his own people?

A hand gently lifted his chin, before lips covered his own.  “Your coming here is nothing less than a gift from the Gods.”  Azog muttered against his mouth.

* * *

Though they both reveled in the pleasure of kissing for a time, it was clear Elrond was not up to much more than that.  He tired easily, and the events of the day had exhausted him.  Within the hour, he was resting in Azog’s hammock, while the orc sat nearby, sharpening his knife.

For a while, all was quiet, the only sounds the quiet thrumming of metal as Azog worked.  He’d even thought Elrond asleep; but after a while, a groggy voice came from the hammock.

“Do you know what became of him?”

“Of who?”  Azog asked, still focused upon his blade.

Elrond turned to face him, his hair a curtain slowly sliding down the hammock.  “Isildur.”

That made Azog lift his eyes.  Gaze narrowed, he looked at his exhausted lover.  “No, I am afraid not.”

Half lidded eyes glanced away.  “Perhaps some other orcs killed him…”

“I doubt it.”  Azog replied.  “Such a kill would have brought them great honor.  They would have let everyone know they had triumphed over Isildur.”  Elrond’s eyes met Azog’s, and the orc continued.  “Orcs did not kill him.”  That did not seem to please him.  Concerned, Azog set his blade aside.  “We’d always thought he’d escaped the attack, and fled to Rivendell.”

“He tried.”  Elrond said, exhaustion darkening his voice and making it heavy.  “His sons sacrificed their lives, that he might escape with the Ring of Power.  But he never made it to Rivendell, and his body was never found.”  Sighing, the elf took a moment to breathe, before continuing.  “It was too much to hope for, that you would have an answer.  If orcs had killed Isildur and taken the Ring, I find it hard to believe the Dark Lord would not have started another war already.”

“True enough,” Azog mumbled, unsure of what to say.  He’d never known much about Isildur.  Famous hero of Men, the supposed conqueror of the Dark Lord, if only by luck.  But he was clearly much more to Elrond, if the melancholy tone of his voice said anything.  It only reminded Azog of how much there was in Elrond’s long life that he did not know about… and thinking of that made him think about the day before…

“What was that dream you had?”  Azog asked finally.  Elrond, whose eyes had fallen shut, came awake again, tired eyes glancing to him.  “Sorry.  Go ahead and rest.”

“No, it’s fine.”  The elf managed a smile.  “What did you say?”

“That dream you had, the night we were reunited.  What was it?”

Elrond’s look darkened.  “An old memory, and not a kind one.”  He said.  “Of the beginning of Sauron’s assault upon Middle-Earth.”

“There was an elf, in your dream.  Who was he?”

“I suppose you mean the elf Sauron captured?”  Azog nodded.  “His name was Celebrimbor, a Noldorin Prince, last of the House of Feanor, Lord of Eregion, and Forger of the Rings of Power.”

“Was he your friend?”

Elrond shook his head.  “I never knew him well.”

“Yet, he haunts you.”

“I feel as though I failed him.”  The elf sighed, his eyes drifting heavenward, even as they slipped closed again.  “I know now such thoughts are folly.  We were far outnumbered, and I am lucky to even be alive.  Yet… I cannot help but doubt sometimes… and wonder if I did enough…”  Slowly he slipped into sleep, and Azog remained, watching over him, long after.


	5. The Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elders speak to Azog of a matter of great importance, and Elrond becomes familiar with some orc practices.

> “And Earendil said to them: ‘Here none but myself shall set foot, lest you fall under the wrath of the Valar.  But that peril I will take on myself alone…’
> 
> But Elwing answered: ‘Then would our paths be sundered for ever; but all thy perils I will take on myself also.”
> 
> \-  Of the Voyage of Earendil, _The Silmarillion_

Elrond woke alone, stretched out across the hammock, with the light of the sunrise pouring in through the open window.  Slowly he came to consciousness, barely recalling his dreams of the night before, but the vague images of the past and the sounds of battle, and Celebrimbor’s face… Sitting up, the elf frowned.  It had been a long time since he’d thought heavily upon those days, but it seemed the memories had been drudged up, and would not leave him be.

He sighed as he stood, brushing out the wrinkles in his robes.  Erestor and Lindor would have fits if they saw him in such a state.  A small smile flitted across his face, as Elrond lifted his head, and left the room.

“Azog?”   The halls were as empty as the bedchambers.  His voice echoed all around the vaulted ceilings, the old crumbling ruin that barely constituted a home.  In one corner of the hall, a small portion of the ceiling had crumbled, creating a hole through which a vine was slinking.  “Azog are you here?”

He kept on, moving to the main hall, and down the large staircase.  “Azog?”

“Oh, you’re awake.”  It was not Azog that replied, but another orc; Thurag, he remembered, the woman from the day before.  “Lover boy was called off by the elder’s this morning, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.  Sorry.”  She didn’t seem very sorry by her tone and the smile on her face, and it made Elrond smile, too.

“That is no hardship.”  He told her.  “Do you know when he’ll be returning?”  She shrugged nonchalantly.  “Well… in that case, is there perhaps someplace I could bathe?”

“Sure, follow me.”

She led him to the roof, which was honestly somewhat disconcerting given the apparent weakness of the structure.  But it didn’t give out from under them as they crossed it.  Sitting in its center was a metal bin, which collected rain water, and another bin full of rather dirty washcloths.  Neither one was big enough to sit inside of.  Elrond tried to make sense of it as Thurag made her exit.

“I’ll be downstairs whenever you’re done.  I can give you a tour around town if you want?”

“Yes, that would be… fine.”  The elf replied, only half paying attention.  He was still rather perturbed by the bathing situation.  But, it seemed it would have to do.  With a sigh, Elrond began removing his clothes.

“Confound orcs and their irrational hatred of cleanliness!”

* * *

Clean as he could be, in the situation, and wearing a fresh change of clothes, Elrond left the bedroom once more and sought out Thurag.  He’d gone ahead and eaten as well, as he was relatively sure orc fair would not suit him.  His supplies, however, were dwindling.  In a few days, he would need to restock.  Perhaps the Elders could be convinced to allow him to forage?  Or to travel south to his kin in Meluinen?  Somehow, he doubted that.

“Bout time.”  Thurag stood up once he had descended the stairs.  “You elves always take this long in the morning?”

In lieu of a response, Elrond smirked, amused by her playfulness.  Few of the orcs in Minas Vrun had been so friendly to him. 

“Still up for that tour?”  She asked when the elf came to stand beside her.

He inclined his head respectfully.  “Lead the way.”

* * *

Azog had been standing outside the Council Room for well over an hour, and he was not amused.

In the old days he’d have stormed in already, forcing his way in.  But now he had more than his own welcome to worry about.  It would not surprise him at all if Elrond was used as a way to control him and his behavior, now that it was clear he desired that the elf stay.  He knew that was the only reason Zlurik had been so easily convinced to allow it.

All had been said and done the day before, he’d thought, so why was he here now?  It had to be about Elrond.  Had they reconsidered?  It had seemed too easy, after all…

Finally, the doors creaked open, drawing Azog’s attention.  His head snapped up.  He stood off the wall, uncrossing his arms, rolling one shoulder back and grunting as it gave a pop.

Zlurik stood in the doorway, hand on the doorknob, standing aside to let Azog in.  He was glowering at Azog already, as if he’d been the one made to wait.  In return, Azog decide to slow his pace a bit.  He took his time crossing the hall, and grinned when Zlurik noticed and his look turned sour.

“You called?”

All three elders stood in the chamber when Azog entered.  It was much smaller than the Chamber for large gatherings, hardly larger than his bedchamber.  A few torches lit the small space, and a round table took up most of the room.

“Azog.  We have – concerns, we still wish to address.”

“Why did you not address them yesterday?”

“Allow me to impress upon you the importance of secrecy in this matter.”  Zlurik muttered as he took a seat.  “Speak one word of this outside this room and I will kill you.”

Azog growled in reply, half standing already, when one of the Elders held up a hand.  “Enough.  We have no quarrel with you or your – mate, Azog… but Goi-suk is still vulnerable, and we have much to protect.”

After a pause, Azog nodded, and sat back down.  “Fine.  What is it?”

“Your elf… is he gifted in any way?”

“Can he perform the healing arts?”

Azog smirked.  _If they only knew._ “He’s somewhat skilled.  What does it matter?”

“Can he be trusted?”

Before Azog could say a word, Zlurik snorted.  “Of course he can’t be.  I’m telling you, involving the elf is not an option!”

A harsh glare from an Elder silenced him.  She turned then to Azog.  “Do you trust this… Elros?”

Azog nodded.  “With my life.”

The three Elders shared one last quiet look with one another, before she spoke again.  “We have need of his assistance.”

Thoughts were rushing through Azog’s mind, ideas clicking into place.  This was why Elrond had been so easily accepted into the city.  The Elders hoped to use him somehow, but why?  And for what?  Orcs had healers of their own.  And what medical malady could need such secrecy?

“I’m listening.”  He said finally, leaning forward onto the table.

One of the elders stood, crossing the room to a door opposite them.  Opening it slightly, he leaned outward, and spoke to someone.  “Come in,” Then, he returned to his seat, followed by a young woman, holding a… a baby.

An _Orc_ baby.

“Fuck me,” Azog breathed.

* * *

Thurag took him through the busier streets of the city.  The north-western section was where most of the orcs lived, behind the markets and the palace, in the shadow of the mountain.  The buildings were just as decrepit, but showed more signs of repair; wood had been brought in to create bridges across rooftops, and railings around holes and over broken walls. 

Those they past eyed him warily, but offered no insult or attack.  They were wary of him, as well they should be, given their past history.  Elrond could hardly imagine what kind of lives these orcs must’ve lived before, under Sauron’s rule.  And a darker part of his mind could not help but wonder, if he had met any of them on the battlefield before…

They spent some time simply walking about, taking in the city.  It was intriguing to see where the city of Men, of old, met with the new orc culture which had overtaken it, and how they both collided.  Yet, mostly, it was sad.  Grand statues long gone into disrepair stood looking over courtyards which had not housed their masters in centuries.  It felt as though ghosts should prowl the very streets, as they did the battlefields not far away.

It was lively, for certain, full of the harsh chatter of Black Speech, and the sounds of drums and horns.  The music was beautiful, if quite unlike what Elrond was used to.  Elves favored softer tones, and somber songs; these songs were jubilant, loud, and sharp. 

The people were friendly to one another, Elrond could see that much.  Orcs were as closely bonded as elves were.  Everywhere he looked, he saw them gathered in groups, talking arm in arm, laughing and walking together.  They were very physical; he saw them more often than not pushing and shoving at each other, hitting and slapping and gesturing with their arms as they talked.  As much energy and vibrancy as mortals, with the long lived years of elves.  A strange combination indeed…

“It’s not much,” Thurag shrugged, hands on her hips.  “But it’s home.”

“It is wonderful.”  Elrond told her, and he meant it.

They turned a corner in the street and came to a wide courtyard.  The stone had completely worn away, revealing the earth beneath.  Mud and filth lined the ground, and weeds and patches of grass here and there.  In this dirt yard, dozens of orcs were gathered, standing in a wide circle around what appeared to be a combat arena.

But it was nothing like the practice yard in Rivendell.  The orcs were fighting with no weapon that Elrond could see.  They were – wrestling, in the filth, covered in mud, and – naked!  Elrond flinched, turning to avert his gaze.  At that, Thurag laughed.

“What, elf, are you shy?”

“Why are they unclothed?”

“They’re wrestling.” She said with a grin, as though that was an answer.  Elrond glanced back, curious despite himself, pointedly keeping his gaze high.

The orcs were cheering loudly, punching the air as the two in the center kept brawling.  Both the brawlers were huge, almost as tall as Azog, and one had breasts, which Elrond tried to avoid looking at.  It wasn’t like the training back home, it was more like a sport, fighting for fighting’s sake. 

“Is this common in Goi-suk?”  He asked finally.

“Common enough.  Gotta do something to keep busy, yeah?” 

The taller orc had the advantage, it was clear.  They grappled for a time, but after a while, the taller got a better hold, arms slipping under one of the other orc’s arms and legs.  The opponent was lifted into the air, to the loud jubilation of the crowd, and thrown hard into the ground. 

“Oooh!”  Lifting a fist to her mouth in sympathy, Thurag grinned.  Rapid-fire Black speech followed.  “ ** _What a fucking finish.  That had to hurt_**!”

“I’m guessing that one just won.”

Said orc had lifted their arms in victory, sauntering around the circle, proud, as the audience cheered.  Once they finished one round, their arms fell, eyes scanning the crowd – and falling on Elrond.  A grin came over their face, one arm lifted, pointing at him.

“Yeah, she won,” Thurag told him.  “And now she’s challenging you.”

“She’s – oh, no,” Balking, Elrond took a step back, but it was too late.  The crowd had turned and saw him, and seemed delighted at the idea of throwing him into the ring.  Well, some did.  A few seemed to eye him with suspicion, confusion, and nervousness, and some seemed to simply want to attack him then and there.

“Oh, no you don’t!”  Thurag stepped behind him, keeping him from moving back.  “You want my people to like you?  You get in there.”

“It’s dirty!”

“Then get dirty!  **_Goddamn pansy elves!_** Go!” 

Another shove and he stepped forward.  The truth was she was right.  To be accepted into their society he would have to embrace their values, and their traditions, their culture.  But – this?  Elrond eyed the ground, imagining his robes soiled with such filth, and scowled.  But he was hardly going to fight naked!

Lifting his eyes, Elrond looked over his opponent as he stepped into the ring.  _Well, Azog_ , he thought grimly _, I hope you appreciate this!_

* * *

It took way too goddamn long to find Elrond.  He wasn’t at the house, which wasn’t surprising, but he didn’t think he’d be far.  The markets, maybe, or exploring the ruins.  But after half an hour, Azog still hadn’t found him, and it was getting frustrating.   So, he had Chaznuk find him.  The warg’s nose was stronger than his, by far, and it didn’t take him long to locate their wayward elf.

Where he found him was not where he expected.

Chaznuk took him to the _Glimanazg_ , of all places.  Azog eyed his surroundings, gaze narrowed.  Orcs were filing about around him, wary yet unafraid.  It was not something he was used to.  For all that he was not trusted, and somewhat unliked, no one really feared him.

Hating him was another matter.

Azog’s eyes turned to the _Glimanazg_ for a moment then snapped back.  It couldn’t have been -?  He looked into the arena and his eyes widened in shock.

In the center of the arena was his lover, covered in mud and sweat, holding an orc in a chokehold.

He was still clothed in his finery, but it wasn’t so fine anymore.  He was muddy head to foot, hair frazzled and caked in shit.  Some of his clothes were even torn, and he could see blood on his skin, but the darkness of it told him it was orc blood, not elf.  Azog stepped forward, sauntering into the crowd.  Soon as those around him realized who he was, the whole group parted.

Elrond’s eyes lifted and met his, blazing with life, his mouth parted in exertion.  The sight was more than pleasing, it was glorious.  Azog grinned.

“Seems you’ve been busy.”

“It was not my intention.”  Elrond replied breathlessly.  Azog took a moment to appreciate the sight, then gestured back to Chaznuk.

“You are needed.  Come, _golugizub_.  I will explain on the way.”

He outstretched his good hand, watching the emotions flit through Elrond’s eyes: concern, confusion, curiosity.  But the elf took his hand, and followed him back to Chaznuk.  All eyes were on them, but Azog cared not.  Let them watch. 

Thurag came from the crowd, running up to walk beside them.  “Damn, Azog, you should have seen this scrawny guy take Fhugro down like it was nothing!”

“What is wrong?”  Elrond leaned towards him, voice tight with concern. 

“Not here,” Azog mumbled, glancing at Thurag.  He trusted her, but this wasn’t his secret to tell.

“Hey, something up?”

“We’ll talk later, Thurag,” He told her, stepping up on Chaznuk.  Reaching out, he took Elrond’s hand again, and pulled the elf up behind him.  Without a moment’s hesitation, he ordered her to move, and she did.  They barreled out of the courtyard, back to the Palace, fast as they could.

* * *

From the moment Azog approached him, Elrond became anxious.  When he refused to elaborate, that feeling exploded into terror.  What could be so important that he was needed so quickly?  What could be so secretive?  The longer he went without knowing, the more his mind invented possible truths, each more terrible than the next.  Perhaps the elders had changed their minds?  Perhaps they had turned against Azog?  Perhaps…

“What’s happened?”  He finally asked as they came to a halt in front of the palace.  By that time he was jittery, practically vibrating with nerves.  Panic clouded his mind, and sent his heartbeat skyrocketing.  He stepped off Chaznuk as if in a daze, as if he’d floated out of his own body. 

A hand took hold of his own, and he followed the limb up to its owner, to Azog’s eyes.  The orc leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.  “Breathe, Elrond,” His lover murmured.  “There is no trouble, it is only… a very delicate situation.”

“You are sure?”

“No harm will come to you here.”  Azog promised him, leaning away.  “The elders have requested your help.”

“They…?”  Elrond’s brow furrowed.  Nodding to the building, Azog turned and began to walk, and Elrond followed after him.  They stepped through the double doors with the ancient engraving, the sight of which was enough to bring a well of sorrow flooding out of Elrond’s heart.  The Elendilmir.  _Isildur…_

The sight hurt, but he suppressed it, focusing his gaze upon Azog’s back.  He followed him down halls, through doors, until they came to a small back room in the living quarters of the palace.  The Elders were all present, as was the Guard Captain, and a few of his guards, posted outside the door. 

The final occupant of the room was a woman, holding… a _child_.

Immediately, Elrond realized the implications of what he was seeing.  An orc child – not a full grown soldier grown in a vat, but a naturally born infant.  Wide eyes glanced to Azog, and he could tell by the orc’s gaze this was exactly what he thought it was: the first natural orc birth in centuries, perhaps longer.

“May I ask why I am here?”

He had a feeling he knew; but he wasn’t certain he wanted to let them know how much he knew.  So he allowed one of the elders to turn and speak to him.

“This is Ardlu, a recent arrival of our people from the Ettenmoors.”  The Elder gestured to her.  “She came to us in a… delicate state.”

“Pregnant.”  Elrond clarified.  He glanced to Ardlu, looking over her face.  Her gaze was distant, dark, her look almost grim.  But she held the child in her arms tight, as if she would die before any would take it.

“Yes.”  The Elder replied.  “That is… not common among orcs.”

“It’s fucking impossible.”  Zlurik snorted.

“Not impossible.”  Another Elder told him with a harsh look.  “Only, very difficult.”

“We feared she would lose the child, and so we kept her secret, hidden from the rest of the people.  We did not want to give hope where there was none.”

“Why does Ardlu not speak for herself?”  Elrond asked, looking to her once again.

“She cannot speak.”  Zlurik told him.  “The _Shakhbûrz_ ripped out her tongue.”

He did not know what a ‘shakhburz’ was, but he did not need to.  Internally, Elrond winced at the bluntness of the statement, looking over Ardlu’s unaffected expression.  It did not bother her.  Yet he could not help but wonder what she was thinking, surrounded by strangers speaking of her as if she was not there.

The Elders were still speaking, but he did not heed them; he turned to Ardlu.  She knew what he needed to know, as did the child in her arms.  After all, it was clear to him as soon as he entered the room what he was needed for.  The child was flushed, sweat-laden, and agitated:  sick.  Possibly dying.

He came to stand in front of Ardlu, and by then, the room had gone silent.  No one spoke.  Elrond lifted a hand to Ardlu’s face.  She did not move; her stern gaze met his and held even with his eyes.  He reached out with his Light, his spirit, hoping that she too had that same light, as Azog did.

Perhaps only some orcs have it?  He wondered, as he searched and found nothing.  Perhaps Azog is an anomaly… perhaps…

He found it.  A small smile came to his face at the flare of life, and sudden awareness as their minds touched.  Ardlu was aware of him, too, as her eyes went wide. 

_Tell me, how did you come to be pregnant?_

She did not understand; Ardlu did not speak the common tongue, and Elrond did not speak Black Speech.  He held out an arm, towards Azog, hoping he would understand.  He did not want to break the connection.  Luckily he did; his lover stepped forward, taking hold of his hand, and Elrond pulled him gently into the connection. 

_Speak to her._   He told Azog.  _How did she become pregnant?_

He felt rather than heard the Black Speech rumble in his mind, and could not help but be repulsed, even disgusted.  Thousands of years of dark associations and painful memories were hard to shake.  But he shoved the feeling aside, focusing on the connection.  Ardlu understood the question, he could feel that.  When she replied, she didn’t use the Black Speech – she had felt his repulsion, and was responding to it. 

She responded with images, and the feelings which accompanied them.

_She had lived all her life in the shadow of Mount Gram, in the Ettenmoors.  The fortress of Gramsfoot is where she was born, where she was meant to die, in the service of the Dark Lord.  She had been a smith, working for the goblins, keeping her head down, trying to survive._

_Her work was respected, as was her skill in battle, and so she carved out a place for herself.  None challenged her, and any who tried to kill her failed.  But her position and all she’d worked for was threatened with one fatal mistake._

_For months, she did not realize what it meant: getting sick in the morning, the pains, the increased hunger, her growing abdomen.  Perhaps she would never have realized, if not for a raid on a human caravan.  She’d been part of the attack, and come across a man with a belly strangely distended, unlike what men she knew looked like.  But the sight, she quickly realized, looked like her.  What she was becoming._

_Could it mean…?_

_All orcs knew of life and how life was meant to begin.  It was not their way.  Orcs became stronger through the Dark Lord’s magics.  He controlled who was born, who lived and died.  It was law.  If the Dark Lord ever discovered that she was with child… she’d be killed._

_So she tried to escape, and failed.  The others had realized she was up to something, and caught her as she’d been climbing the walls out.  They tortured her.  When she wouldn’t speak, they cut out her tongue, and tried to kill her.  They did not get that far._

_Their mistake had been leaving her with only three guards.  She killed them all.  Her second escape went as planned, and she headed north, to where she’d heard rumors of other orcs escaping the Dark Lord.  At the time, she thought only of her own survival.  The child was not any concern of hers._

_The Elders of Goi-suk gladly accepted her, but they kept her hidden, fearing that the child would never be born.  Ardlu did not understand the import of it.  What did one more orc matter?  The months went by, the condition worsened, until she finally birthed it._

_When it came into the world, and wailed and screeched as if in anger to have been brought to such a vicious, terrible place… Ardlu felt a kinship with it.  She loved it.  And it was not long after that it fell sick.  It would not eat.  It grew hot to the touch, and slept all day.  Suddenly, it was here and she wanted it to live yet it seemed to rebel against the very idea… perhaps it was better off dead.  Perhaps they all were._

Elrond let his hand fall from her, and turned immediately to the child.

“What is wrong with him?”  One of the Elders asked.  “We have tried all that we know, but nothing has helped.”

“It is not a malady of the body,” Elrond told them breathlessly.  He lifted a hand, letting it hover in the air over the babe.  “It is of the spirit.”  Zlurik sputtered in laughter at his words.  Elrond ignored him.

“When elves are born,” Elrond began, “They are kept for the first weeks of their lives away from the others, only with their closest kin.  This is to allow them to bond, in spirit, to let their lights know and recognize one another.  The child needs the light of its elders to grow in strength, to draw power from.”

“This is not an elf, if you have not noticed!”  The guard captain spat.

“But the problem is the same.”  Elrond insisted, lifting his gaze and hitting the man with a harsh glare.  “This child has a light, as all elves do.  But it has not bonded with its mother, its light is fading.  Without that bond, it will die.”

“How is that possible?”

Elrond turned to Azog.  “You know what I say is true.”  Azog had seen for himself that orcs could have Lights, for he had one.  Their own bond had saved Elrond’s life.  “If mother and child do not bond, the child won’t live.”

“How is this done?”  The First Elder asked. 

Frowning, Elrond glanced to the babe.  The poor thing was in a restless sleep, face almost red, though its skin tone was a dark grey.  It was not healthy; might not last the night.  There was only one thing he could do.  Elrond raised his head, and met Ardlu’s eyes.  He hoped she understood he was trying to help.

He placed one hand on the babe’s head, and one at Ardlu’s temple, and closed his eyes.  Finding Ardlu’s light a second time was not hard; but searching out the dim candle that was the child’s, was much harder.  He had to go deep, to reach into the newborn consciousness further than he might’ve dared with an adult.  But it worked.  He forged the initial connection, which with time would naturally strengthen, as mother and child remained together. 

“The child, it –“

Elrond opened his eyes.  The babe was looking at him.  It’s color had gone down, and it was no longer struggling.  It seemed… curious.  Bright black eyes stared at him, and a little hand reached out from the blankets toward him.  It was strangely endearing, for all that it was entirely unlike any child he’d ever seen.  Dark grey skin, entirely bald, dark eyes.   He hoped it survived.  He hoped… hoped…

“Elrond!” 

Was he falling?  Perhaps… the world was dark.  All around him was a cloud of night, pitch black, but for a small light in the distance.  What was that?  Was it… a person?  A pair of eyes?  He thought perhaps he recognized them, whoever they were, walking closer to him… was it an elf, or a man?  He could not tell.  For a moment, the distant figure appeared to be Celebrimbor, in the grand cloaks of old, head held high, long dark hair flowing behind him.  Then, he thought he saw Isildur, in the armor of Arnor, bearing the Elendilmir upon his brow.  Whoever they were, they were holding out their hand.  The closer they came, the more their hand opened, until he looked upon their naked palm and saw… saw…

A ring.  Was it his?  He’d… left his in Rivendell… and this ring, it was gold, but it had no blue gem… it was just gold… perfectly round, and unadorned… what was this ring?

_Why are you trying to give it to me?_

He looked up; he saw Celebrimbor’s sharp eyes, he saw Celebrimbor falling before Sauron’s blade; he saw Isildur’s warm smile, saw him disappearing into the dark, to a murky end… he saw…

_Elrond!_

* * *

Elrond opened his eyes.

“About time,” Azog joked dryly. 

“Azog… I…”  Groaning, the elf moved to sit up.  “What happened?”

“You spent too much of your Light saving the child.”  Azog told him.  “You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

They were in Azog’s home again, resting upon a bed of blankets and pillows on the floor.  It hadn’t been there before; it was haphazardly thrown together, and there were so many of them.  He was covered!

“I am sweltering,” The elf threw the top layers off.  “Why are we so covered?”  He heard the crackling of a fire, and saw one burning in the corner of the room.

“You were deathly cold,” The orc told him.  His voice was quiet, and all too severe.  “On the second night I feared I’d lost you, you were so pale and chill.” 

Elrond turned to him, brow drawn in concern.  “Azog, I…”

“How sick are you?”

The elf barely avoided flinching at the question.  The truth was, he wasn’t sure.  Very sick, he knew.  He’d allowed it to go unchecked for too long.  But… what choice had he had?  What choice…

“Elrond, I need an answer.”

Azog was clearly furious, which meant he was afraid.  It must have been serious indeed to inspire this much fear in him.  His gaze was burning, a heavy grimace on his face.  He’d been sleeping behind Elrond, beneath all those blankets, keeping him warm with his body heat.  Azog was covered in sweat – obviously he’d been burning up, beneath it all…

“Elrond!”

“I don’t know!”  He shot back.  “I don’t –“   Sighing, he drew a hand over his eyes, feeling the tension sink into his bones.  “I felt I was getting better.  You did me a great service, some time ago.  But… it was not enough.   Such wounds take time to heal, time, and the assistance of others.”

“What happened?”

“Elladan and Elrohir left.”  They had not said goodbye; hadn’t spoken a word to him.  He’d found they were gone when Erestor returned from their rooms, having found them empty.  The elf’s quiet, pitying gaze had been enough.  He’d known… his sons were gone.  “I sent Arwen home with her grandmother.  She still grieves, for her mother, and it should not be her responsibility to carry my burdens as well.  She is but a child.  And I…”

_My parents, my brother, so many of my friends… they’re all dead.  I had no one left._

“I don’t understand.  All elves have this light, have they not?”  Azog asked him.  “Why could they not have helped you?”

“It cannot be any light, it must be a shared light.  A family bond, or bond of friendship.”

“Did you not have any?  What about Erestor, or Glorfindel?”

“I never created one with them.”

It had been his choice, though they had been willing.  As leader, it was his duty to watch over them all.  The burden of the ring, of ruling the valley, was his.  He could not rely upon his own subjects for support.  He did not have the luxury of creating such bonds with those who served him.  They could be his friends, and they could be close, but they could not bond in such ways.  It was… too risky.  Too close.

“I thought, with time, I would recover.”  Elrond continued, gaze falling low.  “But time went on, and I grew weaker.  The nightmares began.  It became very clear that I would have to take action, or risk greater consequences from my inaction.”

“What consequences?”

Elrond gripped the blankets beneath him tight.  “I may fade entirely.  I might die.  Or, to avoid such a fate, it may become inevitable that I… go West.  If I do not regain my strength soon… I may have no other option.”

Such had been his wife’s fate; in her agony she had withdrawn from friends and family, suffering alone, until she was unable to keep on.  She went west.  If only she had reached out sooner…

_And is that not what you are doing?_

“What can I do?”  Azog asked quietly, taking Elrond’s hand in his.  “How can I help you?”

“Stay with me,” Elrond told him, leaning closer.  “Stay by my side.  Perhaps, with time, I will recover.  But it shall not be easy.”

“I am not one to shy away from challenges.”

That brought a laugh out of him.  “I know that, very well.”

Azog lifted his hand, cradling Elrond’s cheek, as he pressed their foreheads together.  “Your burdens are mine as well, golugizub.”  He whispered against the elf’s cheek, before pressing a kiss there.  “Let us carry them together.  Let _me_ carry them with you.”

Elrond could not help but smile at the sentiment.  “I – will try.”  They remained close, for a few moments longer, until Elrond glanced down and saw the state of his hair.  He leaned away, staring in horror at the matted locks, caked in – in mud?!

Then, slack jawed, he took in the rest of his form, his clothes dirty and sullen, sweat laden.  “What happened?”  Suddenly it came back to him – the wresting match, his fight.  Then that meant – “Oh, by the Gods.  The Elders saw me like this?”

At that, Azog let out a barking laugh.  “You know, I think it might have improved their opinion of you.  I know the people are pleased.  You are not such a dainty flower after all!”

“I stink.”  Frowning, Azog stood, hands held away from his body as if they might be contaminated.  “Ugh, I _reek_.”

“Hm,” Azog shrugged.  “I wouldn’t say that.  But you elves have such delicate little noses.”

Elrond frowned at that, beginning to tear off his nasty clothes.  “I cannot believe – I slept in these for three days?”  Horrified, he tossed the clothes over to the fire.  “They are ruined, I cannot possibly redeem these.”

Rolling onto his back, Azog just laughed hard.  “Elves!”  He chortled.  “Ever so delicate.  Yet, gifted with such great majesty.  Do you realize yet the extent of what you have done for us?”

In the midst of pulling his shirt off over his head, Elrond muttered, “What is that?”

“You saved that child.”  When he could see again, the elf saw that Azog had stood, and was sauntering towards him.  “You have given us hope again.”

Elrond, feeling self-conscious and more than a little embarrassed, shook his head.  “I saved a child’s life.”

“That child is a sign.”  Azog insisted, arms spread wide.  “Do you not see?  If we can create life without the Dark Lord, then we can _live_ without the Dark Lord.”  He grinned.  “We can be _free_.”  Stepping forward, he pulled Elrond into his arms, and the elf scoffed when the orc moved to kiss him.

“Oh, don’t, I am disgusting –“

“Hardly,” Azog laughed against his throat.  “I find you delectable.”

“I need a bath!”

Azog only kept laughing, kissing along his neck.  His joy was infectious, and it was not long before Elrond found he was laughing as well.

_When was the last time I truly laughed?_   He wondered.  _How long has it been?_

He could not say.  But with Azog, it seemed so easy.  With Azog, the whole world seemed brighter.


End file.
